


Chop it Like it's Hot

by ErRose



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Fluff, M/M, OMS, Old Married Spirk Challenge, Romance, whats a plot??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 13:01:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21458467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErRose/pseuds/ErRose
Summary: Jim and Spock cook together. For the Old Married Spirk Challenge.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 19
Kudos: 110
Collections: Old Married Spirk





	Chop it Like it's Hot

“Spock, my love,” Jim said, tenderly cupping his husband’s face in his hands, “I love you very dearly,” he brought him in for a gentle peck on the lips, “but you are a terrible cook. Stay out of my kitchen,” he finished sternly. 

“I do not see how that’s possible- I follow the directions of the recipes. Unlike some,” 

Jim heard the jab in his voice and chuckled. It frustrated Spock to no end when Jim asked him to add ‘a bit of salt’ to a pot with no specific measurements, then chastised him for adding the wrong amount. 

“Cooking isn’t just about logically following the words on a page. It’s about following your heart,” 

“If your heart could speak, Jim, certainly it would beg you to add less sodium,” Spock leaned against the edge of the counter and steepled his fingers under his chin to watch Jim work. It was a pose Jim recognized well. All those years ago onboard the _Enterprise_, whenever they encountered a new species, Spock would assume the position to watch with fascination as the new lifeforms went about their mundane daily tasks. It was crucial to obtaining important information, however when Spock turned this look on him, he began to feel more like a lab rat under close observation than a man making dinner for his husband. 

“I don’t mean literally listen to your heart, though I suspect that you knew that, already,” Jim said with a playful glare, “Recipes are just guidelines. You have to feel it out. Taste it as you go,”

“Jim, that is highly illogical. If you are not meant to follow the instructions laid out, why do they write them at all?” Jim could hear in Spock’s voice that he thought this would be a checkmate to their teasing argument, but Jim wouldn’t give up so easily. 

“Like I said, it’s a guideline, a starting point. Only people who are terrible cooks follow recipes to the letter.” As he spoke, a smile tugging at his lips, he pointed at Spock to drive home the fact that he was, indeed, bad at cooking. 

Spock raised an eyebrow. “It is fortunate that I am Vulcan. If I were human, I do believe that would have hurt my feelings,” he feigned offense. 

“Alright fine,” Jim relented, “You can chop, but that’s it.” He handed Spock an onion and a knife, and Spock got to work. When he finished with the onion, Jim handed him a tomato, and then a few fikines- a sweet and spicy fruit about the size of a golf ball from a planet in the Lyra system, a recent federation addition. 

While Jim stirred, he glanced over at Spock out of the corner of his eye. He wore a look of total concentration- his eyebrows knitted slightly together and worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Jim planted a kiss on Spock’s cheek and allowed his free hand to roam down his back, dragging his fingernails so he could scratch that spot that was always a little itchy, no matter what Bones recommended. Spock pretended it didn’t bother him, but Jim knew better. Occasionally, when it was worse than normal, he would even feel a ghost of the itch on his own back over their bond. 

“I love you so much, Spock,” Jim said, suddenly feeling overwhelmed and a little breathless from the intense love he felt surging through his heart. 

He put his hand on Spock’s side where he knew he would feel the steady thrumming of his heart, and pulled him closer, so they stood hip to hip. 

“You have seen my regard for you, as well, Jim.” He paused his task to kiss the top of Jim’s head, and Jim leaned into his shoulder. His solid and steady vulcan. How often had Jim relied on him to be a rock of logic and steadfast calm within his sea of tumultuous emotion. And every time, Spock was up to the task, no matter how bad the situation. Their bond hummed with love and contentment flowing from both directions. They could have stayed like that forever- soaking in each other’s essence, and sending another wave out in return- a constant feedback loop of adoration

After a moment, Jim snapped back to the task at hand. “Alright, toss some of them in here for me, please, Mr. Spock,” 

Spock looked at him warily. 

“Oh, come on, just try for me. I won’t tease you any more, I promise,”

Spock picked up a handful of the chopped fikines, and looked to Jim, eyebrows raised as if to ask if it was the proper amount.

“Perfect. See, you don’t need measurements; I’ll turn you into a master chef in no time,” 

The door chimed and Jim called out to allow Bones entrance. 

“There’s bourbon in the peach cobbler, and whiskey in the bottle,” he announced without any preamble as he put the dessert dish and bottle of booze onto the table, before rummaging through the cabinets for a glass. Bones had a habit of making himself at home wherever Jim and Spock lived. It started on the _Enterprise_, and continued through every shore leave they spent off ship, and every apartment they rented since. Not that either of them minded, he was a natural addition to their family. He was Jim’s truest friend and confidant, and in Spock’s communiques with his mother, he would often include stories of the doctor- she too had been quite fond of him ever since he saved Sarek’s life on the way to the Babel conference. 

He poured all three of them a glass, and raised his own in a toasting gesture; they all clinked their glasses against his and sipped the smooth whiskey. McCoy dipped his finger into the pot and tasted. 

“You could use some more of these,” he said, gesturing at the fikines. 

Spock shot an exasperated look at Jim, who just grinned back and wrapped his arm around Spock again and said, “I like it just the way it is,” 

Bones rolled his eyes and mumbled, “Suit yourself.” He popped one of the leftover chunks into his mouth. 

“It’s just about ready, anyway. Hon, can you get some plates for me, please,” 

At the same moment, Spock and Bones reached up to the proper cabinet, narrowly avoiding brushing hands. Spock was unperturbed, but Bones mumbled out an apology and clasped his hands behind his back. 

“I was asking Spock, but I can start calling you ‘Hon’ if you want me to,” 

Bones turned red with a furious blush and he continued to splutter out an incomprehensible apology. 

“Come on, let’s eat.” Jim slapped him on the shoulder to turn him in the direction of the table, and handed him a plate of food. 

The three of them ate and drank, laughing at half remembered escapades from the old days, and more recent embarrassing moments that come naturally as a part of aging. Spock squeezed Jim’s knee, and Jim brushed their fingers together under the table. 

After dinner, they all had some of McCoy’s famous peach cobbler. It was an old McCoy family recipe that absolutely demanded the usage of fresh peaches and a particular brand of bourbon. When he explained this, Spock threw a pointed look in Jim’s direction, feeling as though he had been proven right in their earlier argument about recipes and their usefulness. 

“Baking is a different beast altogether,” he said out loud, waving his hand in the air as if he could physically dismiss the feeling of vindication that seeped across their bond. “Baking is about measurements. Cooking is about heart and soul,” 

“I gotta agree with Jim on this one,”

Spock sighed, just barely, but it was enough for the others to notice and erupt into laughter. 

They finished dessert and scooped leftovers into a container for Bones to take home. 

“If I don’t see you before then, I’ll see you two next Wednesday. You're on dessert duty, I’ll cook dinner,”

“Right. We’ll see you next week,” Jim paused to catch McCoy’s eye, “Hon,” 

His face and ears flared red again but he covered his embarrassment with feigned irritation. “You’re insufferable, Jim. I don’t know how Spock has put up with you this long,”

Jim laughed, and Spock smiled a genuine smile- the cobbler had more sugar in it than he realized and was feeling what Jim would call a ‘good buzz.’

They washed the dishes and cleaned the kitchen together, working completely in sync. A playful pat on the butt, handing off a dish, a kiss on the lips- it all seemed more dance than chore. 

After they finished, they curled into each other in bed. Around a yawn, Jim said, “You’ll be a natural at baking, Spock. Much more precise,”

Spock kissed his forehead, and they both drifted to sleep.


End file.
